Taft, having begun to rock back on his chair once more, now came crashing down with a multitude of force. “Say what?” he bleated.
Larkin lifted a shoulder nonchalantly. “Sophia is willing to sell me her shares.”
His shoulder was suddenly gripped hard, and Taft grinned with the thrill of victory. “Larkin, that is a damned miracle. You must take her up on it as soon as possible. Today, if you can.”
“I cannot afford to…”
“I’ll fund it,” Taft overrode, squeezing his shoulder further still. “Whatever she asks for, I’ll pay it. You can pay me back over time, without interest. Gads, man, this is magnificent!”
It seemed a shame to destroy Taft’s giddy happiness, particularly when the man never felt joy if he could help it, but there was no hope for it.
“There are conditions, Taft,” Larkin told his friend firmly.
Taft’s scowl was comical, and his shoulders slumped. “Of course, there are. Conniving wench, no doubt some lawyer advised her.”
Larkin opted to let the less than pleasant reference to Sophia go without comment. It was a deal better than his calling her a shrew, after all.
“No, I think she has had this in mind all along,” Larkin disagreed without emotion. “She wants a husband.”
“Easily managed.” Taft looked around the room and pointed into a corner. “There’s a table of fine young bucks right over there, any of them would love a pretty wife with a bit of money.”
Larkin look where he indicated and snorted once. “She’d eat any of them alive, and perhaps all of them together. She’s not like other women, Taft. Besides all that, she doesn’t have money.”
“She’s an heiress, you dolt. Mistress of Rosennor.”
“Half of Rosennor,” Larkin reminded his friend, turning to look at him again. “Which, as it stands, is not much of a prospect. And once all is said and done, no man will want to share the estate with another, so selling is the only option for her. As I am not a prospect with half of an estate either, we have agreed to work together to improve both of our prospects by improving Rosennor.”
For the first time in the course of this conversation, Taft was serious and thoughtful, nodding in consideration of what had been revealed. “A sound plan, financially and otherwise. You’ve got all you need by way of manner and reputation, but a thriving estate would set you up quite nicely.”
“Glad you approve, Taft,” Larkin replied with a rueful grin. Then he sobered. “At any rate, all Sophia has is Rosennor. Nothing more to her name. Rosennor does not make her an heiress unless we make Rosennor something. That takes years, not weeks.”
Again, Taft surprised him. He pursed his lips in thought, his brow furrowing. “Not much of a prospect at all, then, as far as matrimony goes. No dowry, and only half of an estate? It’ll fetch a decent penny as is, I have no doubt, but hardly enough to make her tempting.”
“And with my owning the other half,” Larkin said, nodding in agreement, “I am not presently in a position to buy her shares, should she have a marriage prospect anyway.”
Taft made a tutting noise of thought. “Much as it pains me to say it, we need her to make a good match. Not just favorable, but good. I don’t care what his fortune is, per se, but the reputation of Rosennor would be damaged if she didn’t have a husband worth envying.”
Larkin hadn’t considered that, but it was true. Theirs was hardly a conventional living situation, but they were tied to each other, in a way. He needed to see to her affairs as though she were a sister to him, if either of them was to succeed.
The idea wasn’t particularly tasteful.
He wasn’t sure why, but it made his stomach crawl.
“Tell you what,” Taft said, breaking into his thoughts. “You see to the lands and farms, and I’ll see what I can do about Miss Anson and her prospects.”
Now that was an idea to make one feel especially nauseating.
“No, thank you, my lord,” Larkin insisted with a mocking air. “You are to stay in London while I am in residence here, and in no way are you to write to, speak of, or become acquainted with the aforementioned Miss Anson.”
Taft threw his head back on a laugh. “You give me more credit than I deserve, Lark. I have no intention of venturing out to your home and wooing your housemate for my own ends. I am a loyal friend, but not loyal enough to put myself into matrimony just to see you gain the whole of your estate.”
“That is good to know.”
Good to know, but hardly comforting. There was entirely too much interest around Sophia where Taft was concerned, and Larkin didn’t trust his friend.
That was not a new development, he made it a habit of many years to not fully trust Taft, but for some reason this felt more significant.
Sophia and Taft? Thunderstorms would be tame compared to the tumult that pairing would create.
“I only mean,” Taft was saying, “that you should leave the societal matters to me. I’ll concoct a plan destined to make you both quite enviable to the parties most beneficial.”
“I quiver with fear and apprehension,” Larkin remarked dryly, feigning a shiver for effect. “Don’t do anything drastic. Or ridiculous. Neither of us are particularly social, nor fond of frivolousness.”
“I never do anything drastic,” Taft vows.
Well that was an out and out lie.
Larkin gave him a look. “Indeed?”
Taft cleared his throat. “I rarely do anything drastic.”
That wasn’t much better.
Larkin waited.
Taft huffed and rolled his eyes rather like an adolescent. “Fine, I will not do anything drastic.”
“Very good,” Larkin praised, nodding in approval.
“Spoilsport,” Taft muttered.
Larkin shrugged without concern. “I’m not you, Taft. Don’t really care about all that.”
“‘All that’ being everything amusing in Society.” Taft sniffed and took a long swig of his drink.
“Bit of a misnomer, that. Society and amusing.”
Taft peered at him over the rim of his tankard. “Observing Society can be very amusing, Larkin. One need not partake to enjoy. Be in Society but not of Society.”
Larkin frowned. “I may be wrong, but I do not believe that is the correct wording of the phrase.”
“I’m being clever.”
“Are you?”
“Shove off.”
“Don’t mind if I do.”
But Larkin didn’t move, and neither did Taft. On the contrary, they exchanged smiles borne of years of the same friendly banter.
“I’ll restrict myself to your tastes and hers, Larkin,” Taft told him in all seriousness. “Let me do this, will you? I think it may help.”
Larkin bit the inside of his lip in thought, then nodded. “All right. Let me know what you come up with and we’ll see.”
Taft inclined his head in an almost regal fashion. “Thank you.” He took another drink, this time slowly, and set his tankard down with an exhale. “How’s your mother?”
Larkin’s bemoaning sound had Taft laughing uproariously before any of the more recent stories were told.
CHAPTER 13
L arkin had been gone a month, and it was the strangest existence at Rosennor without him.
Not unpleasant, only strange.
Unnerving, really. Such a great house, so sprawling and expansive, and to be the only one in it other than his mother and her companion was rather disconcerting if Sophia thought about it too much.
Mrs. Roth had been growing agitated without him there, and Mrs. Windermere had reported to Sophia several times a week for the last fortnight that the ridiculous spells were growing more frequent. Sophia had made a concentrated effort to spend some additional time with Mrs. Roth, take tea and attempting walks and anything else that might interest her, but it was growing more difficult indeed to find clarity in her.
The most recent spell had been very bad, and only Mrs. Windermere’s firm hand and ch
aracter had kept Mrs. Roth from real madness.
Well, perhaps not that extreme, but it had been quite distressing.
Larkin had written regularly, of course, mostly with updates on what he was discovering in London that could help their farms. It was all fairly boring, but she kept up the pretense with him as well, writing in reply and telling him what changes she was making to the house. He had an amusing commentary in response to whatever she wrote, and it made her feel as though he were still here, in a way.
True to his word, he let Sophia have her way with whatever she liked by way of decor for the house, and it was a liberating, refreshing experience to be able to do what one liked with one’s home.
And there was ever so much to do. Whichever way she looked, Sophia found at least two more projects to attend to. Much as she had told Larkin she wanted to refurbish the house, she had little enough experience in such things. After only three days at the attempt, she had rather felt as though she were swimming in an ocean with rather billowing waves. She had found her way through, of course, but it had been rather rough going.
Even now she wasn’t sure she had done a good job. What if her preferences were better suited to the small, comfortable home of the Arthurs and the like and not a grand estate such as Rosennor? She had no notion of how to be a great lady, and there was no one to teach her how. In theory, Mrs. Roth would have done; theory, however, had no respect for the ridiculous.
Still, Larkin would know best. He had been about in the world, and, as Sophia understood it, had grown up in a house of some grandeur. Not to the extent of Rosennor, but certainly grander than that of the Arthurs.
If Larkin ever came home, that is.
Home.
Sophia paused a step on her way out to the garden, her eyes going wide. Somehow Rosennor had become home, not merely the house in which she lived. This complicated, maddening estate that was undoubtedly more trouble than it was worth was home?
Well, that was only natural, wasn’t it? The place in which one lived ought to be considered home.
Nothing overly meaningful in that, surely.
Nodding to herself, Sophia continued out, basket in hand, pushing the erroneous thought out of her head. She needed to rearrange the flowers all throughout the house, and with the number of rooms she had put them in, there were quite a few. Did one schedule oneself with such things? One room or two every day, so that the flowers might be rotated regularly and not picked in such amounts? But who would wish to pick flowers every day just to keep the rooms fresh?
And then there were the changes to the rooms. She had managed to have the majority of the public rooms repainted, and three of the parlors repapered, but those all seemed minor changes. There was still the furniture to see to, and the artwork, and the draperies, the tapestries, the lighting…
It was a never-ending list of tasks, running a house. And with no one to share the burden…
Well, she wasn’t sure what to do.
At least she never had to worry about the gardens. Old Mr. George took care of them splendidly, and at least once a week he walked with her about the gardens, showing her everything and explaining it all in great detail. He had even asked the other day if there were anything she wished to see added to the gardens, and she felt bold enough to ask if he might allow a patch of the garden to be filled with wildflowers purely for her enjoyment. They took little to no cultivating, she understood, but with such glorious roses growing all the while, and Rosennor being famed for them, wildflowers would be something of her very own, and would not seem so intimidating.
Mr. George vowed to see to it, though he reminded Sophia that they could not have such a thing in bloom until next spring, as it was already summer.
Sophia didn’t mind; the remaining roses were still lovely, and there were plenty of other flowers to fill the rooms with.
And it wasn’t as though she would be leaving Rosennor in the foreseeable future. She could wait for the flowers to grow.
“Ah, there you are.”
Sophia looked up, peering from underneath the wide brim of her straw hat. A tall man with dark hair and a familiar stride ambled towards her, the grin one she would know anywhere.
“Larkin!” She stood and adjusted the hat on her head, the low knot of the ribbons bouncing against her chest. “I had no word of your coming home.”
She could have kicked herself; what if Larkin didn’t think of Rosennor as home?
He shrugged as he neared her, bowing in greeting, prompting a brief curtsey from her. “It was an impulsive decision. London had done all it could for me at the present, so why not make my way back to Rosennor?”
Why not, indeed.
“Did you have success?” she asked, painfully aware of the dirt streaks on her apron and the loose mess of her hair. Not that it should matter overly much what she wore at home or when Larkin found her, but it was awkward nevertheless.
“Some,” he replied simply. “Time will tell if any of it works in our favor, but I’ve a meeting with Maxwell in three days to discuss options. If you wish to be present, I’d be only too happy to bring you up to speed beforehand.”
Sophia wasn’t sure she had ever heard anything as sweet as that in her entire life. She smiled and nodded with real pleasure. “I’d like that very much. I met a few of the tenant farmers just the other day, a few who were unable to attend the Cutting, and they were quite charming people. A Mr. Wilkes, in particular, and he has three sons near to adulthood. I believe his family has farmed at Rosennor for generations, he seemed quite devoted to the land.”
Larkin seemed impressed and smiled at her. “Wonderful! I’ll have to confer with the man and see what he thinks.”
“What he thinks?” Sophia repeated.
“Of course.” Larkin cocked his head at her. “You don’t think I’m foolish enough to make decisions about farming when I know nothing about it without taking counsel from those that do, do you?”
Sophia laughed to herself. “Well, I hadn’t thought about it, truth be told. But I suppose it does make sense.”
Larkin grinned. “Could we get that in writing? You thought something I said made sense. Call the parson, ring the bells, make a proclamation!”
“You are such an idiot,” Sophia told him with another laugh.
“We’ll leave that out of the proclamation.” Larkin clasped his hands behind his back. “Hard at work, I see.”
Sophia glanced back at her basket and flowers. “Yes, I fear it is left to me to arrange flowers for the rooms.” She wrinkled her nose up as she turned back to him. “I don’t know much of the style of such things, so I hope I have not done too badly.”
Larkin shook his head with a gentle smile. “I didn’t see anything unfortunate looking.”
“Did you even look?” Sophia demanded, folding her arms.
“Of course not.”
Now she threw her hands up. “Larkin!”
“What?” he protested, chuckling easily. “It is not in a man’s nature to walk into his house and say, ‘Oh, what a pretty vase of flowers,’ or ‘Oh, what a ghastly bouquet,’ We barely even notice our own furniture, saving our beds, and even that is a fleeting notice at best.”
Sophia rolled her eyes, but she was close to laughing in spite of herself. “That is such a Larkin thing to admit.”
“Well, and it is a very Larkin person who admits it,” he shot back.
She shook her head. “When did you arrive?” she asked, praying they could get back to sensible conversation, if it were possible.
He smiled as if he knew. “Only just.”
“Hmm.” She smiled in return and inclined her head towards her side of the estate. “I think you had better stop by to see your mama. She has been quite distraught without you.”
Larkin sobered and immediately became concerned. “Has she been unwell? A new delusion? Why didn’t you say so in your letters?”
“What was I to say?” Sophia asked as gently as she could. “She hasn’t been any more unwell th
an she has been at any other time, and her delusions the same as they ever were, only more so. There wasn’t anything you could have done, not when you were trying to find a way to improve our farms. Mrs., Windermere was with her, and so was I, and together we made it through.” She smiled with sympathy, if not pity. “There was nothing you could have done more than we did, and you cannot always be here for her.”
“No, but I could be with her more often.” He swore softly as he ran a hand through his hair.
Sophia sighed and folded her arms again, forming almost a shield against herself. “I would never have told you had I known it would distress you.”
Larkin smiled without pleasure. “It doesn’t distress me, not anymore. But it does concern me. I’m not sure I shall ever overcome the guilt of knowing she relies on me so and I am not always able to oblige her.”
“You do the best you can,” Sophia insisted, coming over and putting a hand on his arm. “No mother could have a more attentive son, not in the world.”
His eyes raised to hers, and his smile turned crooked. “You’ve a very limited idea of the world, Soph. You’d find I am not nearly so heroic.”
She squeezed his arm tightly. “To your mother, I would wager everything I own that you are.”
A light of hope entered his eyes, and the intensity with which he searched her own eyes made Sophia’s breath catch in the center of her chest.
Lands, she had forgotten, in his absence, how attractive Larkin was. And holding his arm as she was, she could feel for herself his strength, and the warmth of him was unbearable beneath her hand. Yet she could not move it. Would not.
“You don’t own enough to make that wager worthwhile,” Larkin murmured, smiling in a way that fairly lit up her toes.
Her lips curved without her permission. “When one has little, wagering everything is more remarkable, is it not?”
He chuckled softly, the sound deep and rippling between them both. “I suppose it is. Quality of the thing, not the quantity.”
The Rivals of Rosennor Hall (Entangled Inheritance Book 3) Page 15